


That special time of the year

by little_miss_chaos



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Christmas Fluff, Christmas fic, Gen, M/M, Superfamily, and especially during christmas time, life during pandemic, much to Steve's chagrin, the one where Tony has actually bought several islands and threatens to buy more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29880003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_miss_chaos/pseuds/little_miss_chaos
Summary: This year everything’s different. Everybody knows that. A global pandemic can’t be argued away just like that after all.Steve also knows Peter hates to see his Papa mope around like this. He’s informed him of this several times before, for almost two years now whenever he notices it. And Steve can’t deny that he’s moping. It really has to be rather obvious, especially if his boy gives him this long hard stare, eyes narrowed to slits.“Uh oh. What did I do?”"You're moping. You're not allowed to mope."---In which Peter and Tony team up to give Steve the perfect Christmas present to stop his moping and get him into the spirit after one totally crazy year.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	That special time of the year

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo. This is actually incredibly, super late, but I wanted to post it nevertheless (in the hopes that we will remember Christmas 2020 as the _only_ one Covid-19 crashed). So even if it's March already: enjoy some superfamily Christmas fluff!

This year everything’s different. Peter knows that. Everybody knows that. A global pandemic can’t be argued away just like that after all. Knows that his Dad is away a lot lately. He sees him on the news more often than personally and sometimes Steve wants to deck his husband really hard for it. Then he tends to remember all the charity work he himself is doing, all the times Peter is in the care of other people, even though they’re their family, too, and wants to be angry at the world at large at the unfairness of it all and apologize profusely to his son and his husband and every member of his family for ever thinking that.

Steve also knows Peter hates to see his Papa mope around like this. He’s informed him of this several times before, for almost two years now whenever he notices it. And Steve can’t deny that he’s moping. It really has to be rather obvious, especially if his boy gives him this long hard stare, eyes narrowed to slits.

He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, hoping Peter doesn’t see the lines on his forehead. He’s not going to admit seeing Peter like this breaks his heart every time he does it. Has done so ever since the boy watched Tony do it and saw Steve crumble almost immediately, each and every time. (It’s a weakness, he knows, but when Tony gives him this stare he can’t help but want to do anything in his power and beyond to get rid of it.)

That the kid has to resort to measures like this to get Steve to pay attention to him is unacceptable, no matter what Tony and he, and all the other people out there helping where they can, are going through right now.

He pulls up a smile, waving Peter over, but the kid only stares harder, even puts his hands akimbo.

“Uh oh. What did I do?” He tries to sound funny and fond instead of the actual panic that settles in his chest at the thought of having fucked up and having hurt their kid in the process.

“You’re moping.”

So much for pulling up a façade for the kid. Steve keeps the smile up nevertheless. Peter deserves nothing less than smiles, even when his dad and papa are practically the worst right now.

“Well, Pete-“ he tries to explain, but gets interrupted rather quickly.

“You’re not allowed to mope. Daddy says so and I say so, too.”

“I’m not-“

“You’re not allowed!” the kid interrupts him yet again, and with way more vigor than Steve had expected. For a moment he’s stunned by Peter’s stern look, the way his whole body trembles a little with the anger he’s trying to keep in that he can only blink at his son. The silence between them stretches on until the small body in front of him basically deflates.

“You’re not allowed,” Pete murmurs, part sullen, part crestfallen. If there has ever been an expression Steve had never wanted to see on his son’s face it was _that_.

Before he can think about it properly he’s scooped the kid up in his arms. The way he clings to him says so much that Steve doesn’t want to think about further. He just wants to make it go away, wants to lift all the sorrow he’s bestowed on the kid’s little shoulders.

“I’m sorry I’ve been moping, Pete.” The small arms around his neck only tighten, which, no. “I promise I’ll try not to anymore.” Anything in his power.

“We have to make it go away.”

 _We_. Bless this child.

Steve just wants to propose they settle down with a book or a movie and cuddle on the couch some more when the kid is seemingly struck by lightning and struggles to get out of his arms. Steve has trouble not letting him fall, surprised by the sudden change of pace, but over the years he has managed to accommodate rather well. He suspects the kid has a plan of his own.

With a fond smile he watches Peter dash off only to return with his arms full of different papers, pencils and other things to do arts and crafts. He’s even carried along one of the boxes Steve keeps small parts in that don’t fit anywhere else, like paperclips, googly eyes, brass fasteners and the likes, though he can’t help but be impressed with his son.

“It’s almost Uncle Bruce’s birthday and we haven’t,” he heaves all the stuff in his small arms on the table, “started making presents yet!”

That the kid is even aware of how close to Bruce’s birthday they actually are (or how close that is to Christmas) is a miracle, Steve thinks. He wouldn’t have thought Peter to have a grasp of that already. Sure, he’s a smart kid, but usually he still lives from day to day, maybe until the weekend if they have something planned, but Steve can’t argue with his logic. They are close to Bruce’s birthday and Steve hasn’t even started decorating yet, a task he usually starts with as soon as Natasha’s birthday’s over.

But this year he just… doesn’t feel the Christmas spirit like he usually does. He’s so busy, trying to help the people less fortunate than Tony and he are, who have to fight for their jobs, their homes, even for the next meal, never knowing if it’s going to be the last warm one for a while. He’s been reminded so much of the times he’s grown up in lately, it’s scaring the hell out of him at times when he lets himself think further about it. Tony usually reassures him that they’re helping, all of the Avengers are, as much as they can, funding charities and shelters, raising awareness of how dangerous and deadly Covid-19 really is.

They’re all on their last legs, but Steve’s proud and happy to help wherever he can. Sadly, that means he’s not really in the mood for Christmas yet. Doubts that this year he will get there. But apparently his son has taken it upon himself to drag his Papa with him and out of the circles of darkness that has settled around Steve without him noticing.

He’s still tense when he sits down next to his son, but Peter soon manages to distract him. With his babbling and sudden joyful, almost put-on mood he should be more suspicious of the kid’s motives, but he’s so strongly reminded of Tony that Steve decides to not look too closely. Instead he lets himself be swept away, lets himself get lost in working with his hands and helping his son along with his works, supplying advice about Natasha’s soon-to-be sparkly unicorn ornament and Pepper’s canvas-sized painting depicting all of the Avengers clustered around a massive, decorated Christmas tree on the common floor. At that point Steve realizes they haven’t even done _that_ yet this year.

When he tells Peter as much the boy looks at him with wide eyes.

“But we’re going to have one, right? Right, Papa?”

Steve smiles. “Absolutely,” he says warmly as the decision settles in his mind. “Hey, what do you say to actually going out right now and buying one?”

He expects the kid to be all excited about it, but Peter only frowns. Before he can ask what that is all about, though, the kid quietly says, “It’s Uncle Clint’s turn.”

Yet again, Steve is amazed at the kid’s grasp on time (though maybe Tony told him a couple of days or weeks ago). But he’s absolutely right. They’d decided to take turns in buying the tree for the common floor after Thor had blown out a whole window during a fight over the “most festive tree in this house” three years ago. So they had established a yearly rotation, giving everyone the opportunity to buy the _perfect tree_. This year it’s Clint’s.

Steve sighs and looks away, hoping the kid doesn’t see the twist around his mouth. God, he _knows_ this year is different, but he can’t - he _won’t_ let some stupid (and potentially lethally dangerous) virus destroy their favorite time of the year.

He just wants to declare as much to his son when Peter practically freezes in his spot, green pencil he’s been drawing tinsels with hovering over the paper. Before he can ask about it, though, the pencil falls and Pete scrambles off his seat

“I have to tell Daddy something!”

All Steve can do is watch him scoot off in the direction of his room and make sure FRIDAY has an eye on him. Just before he slams the door shut Peter yells, “And then we buy a tree!”

Steve can only smile. Maybe he’ll get into the spirit after all.

///

He tells his husband about it later that week and they both laugh. They haven’t really spoken in two days, both being scooped up at their respective works. Tony’s working the great tour, traveling the whole country with Pepper in tow to spread the Christmas spirits of Stark Industries and the Maria Stark Relief Foundation wherever they make a stop.

Steve is basically commuting between DC and New York, collaborating with Sam and Bucky to help out in various VA centers, homeless shelters, food kitchens and children’s homes. Most of the time he has Peter with him, the boy clearly taking after his Dad and wanting everybody to be taken care of and being happy, especially other kids, giving out self-wrapped presents, smiles and kind words. Every time Steve sees his baby boy doing stuff like that he feels his eyes well up with tears and his heart swell with pride.

Tony has to hear his throat closing up because he lowers his voice to this soothing timbre that washes over Steve’s mind and body like a warm blanket. He isn’t really listening for exact words; just Tony’s voice is enough to make his muscles relax.

Until he suddenly asks, “Steve?” (or not so suddenly, Steve can’t be the judge of that. He’s sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, whishing his husband was by his side).

“Hmm?”

“You’re not even listening to a word I say.” But Tony’s smiling, he can hear it in his voice.

“I’m listening to and cherishing every word you say, darling.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I’m missing you,” Steve counters, his own smile first freezing, then falling a little.

Tony sighs. “Honey, I have a company to run-“

“You’re not that company’s CEO anymore, Tony. I remember you passing that position on to Pepper explicitly to avoid situations like this.” He doesn’t mean to sound accusing, but there’s a sad tone underlying his words nevertheless.

“And I’m sure _you_ remember I’m still the face that’s plastered on all the promotional posters, along with my name.” He falls silent for a moment, before saying the words Steve knew he would say next. “Nothing against Pep and her many wonderful ways, but… you know the press coverage is higher when I do the charity work.”

Sometimes Steve hates being right. “Yeah, I do,” he sighs.

“Hey,” Tony chimes up, instantly sounding more cheerful again, “last time you said that, you were more enthusiastic.”

Steve needs a moment to make the connection in that joke, but when he does, he can’t help the chuckle and the fond eye roll.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me? I could _hear_ you rolling your eyes at me, Mr. Stark-Rogers!”

The fondness turns into a full-on smile. “I did roll my eyes. You’re an incorrigible man sometimes.”

“I love being your incorrigible man,” Tony says in that soft tone that makes Steve’s heart bloom. His smile wobbles a little.

“I love you, too.”

“Is that Daddy?”

Steve knew his kid is quick, but he’s still surprised when he throws himself at Steve in a flash, grabbing for the phone. Steve’s so perplex that he almost lets him, but in the end holds out a finger, indicating Peter should wait, and when the boy does, puts Tony on speaker.

Tony chuckles warmly when he hears Peter’s overenthusiastic greeting as well as his babbling. The boy’s basically reciting what he’s done over the last couple of days minutely.

“… and, and Auntie Nat thought she could wrap them faster than me, but I’ve wrapped enough presents that I’m fast as light! Even faster than Papa!”

“I knew you could beat Auntie Nat, champ!”

Peter beams at the phone, and simply keeps on talking. Steve leans back into the cushions, watching his son with a fond and loving smile. Again, he isn’t listening, just letting both their voices and the warmth in them wash over him.

He’s burst out of his bubble when Tony sighs. He sounds as reluctant as Steve feels when he starts his next sentence with, “Hey, you two, listen…”

Immediately Peter’s face falls. “No,” he breathes. “No, Daddy, you can’t…” He even scrambles closer to the phone Steve’s still holding out to him.

“Pete, I still have some work to do. Someone needs to bribe Santa for all those presents your Papa is going to get. But I’ll tell you a secret.”

Peter eyes first the phone in Steve’s hands, then his Papa skeptically. Knowing where this is heading, Steve has to work really hard to suppress the smile when he asks if he should turn the speaker off. Peter needs another moment to decide, but then nods wildly, holding out his hands to accept the phone. Steve does as he’s told.

As soon as he’s finished Pete snatches the phone practically out of his hands, pressing it tightly to his ear with both hands.

“He’s not listening,” the boy whispers into the phone and now Steve actually has to turn away because the smile splits his face. He hears Tony’s soothing timbre, but can’t make out actual words. What he can hear, though, is his kid saying, “You can count on me, Daddy” with utter conviction.

Obviously Tony asks to talk to him again because shortly after, Pete shoves the phone at him again.

“What are you two up to?” he asks skeptically.

Pete’s eyes widen, fearing that his Daddy will tell after all, as Tony chirps into his ear, “Only Santa knows.”

The boy settles soon, though, when Steve good-naturedly rolls his eyes, which probably says something about how often he does it when Tony evades an answer. Another thing he has to get a grip on, apparently, if he doesn’t want his son mimicking every mannerism his Dad has developed over the years.

“Tony, you know what we agreed on.”

No over-priced presents for either of their birthdays or Christmas. A solid ground rule that has been in place for over ten years now. Most of the times Tony has managed to follow it, the only exception being their wedding rings, but that’s mostly because they’re part Vibranium and that still is the most expensive metal on Earth, so Steve has allowed it, albeit with clenched teeth.

“My lips are sealed tight.”

“You actually do?” Steve asks for a good reason. “Because four years ago I had to stop you from buying a whole-“

“Pep’s almost literally throwing daggers at me right now,” Tony soundly interrupts him. “Bye, bye, love you, gotta go.”

He hangs up without waiting for a reply and although Steve feels the pang in his chest for a moment there, he can’t help but be fond of his husband. Until he remembers the cause of the hasty retreat.

For days, Steve expects the worst.

One memorable morning, when his brain’s still half asleep, he even suspects Tony’s bought another island (as nice as that vacation had been, he needn’t have _bought it._ In Steve’s humble opinion three islands in various oceans of the world were _enough_ , and that had nothing to do with him being prude, thank you), but Peter’s giggling makes him abandon that idea rather quickly.

The kid had been awed when they’d flown to Laniakea (don’t ask, curse of a billionaire owning an island in the Pacific, naming it tacky things like ‘immeasurable heaven’) last year. Had his husband really seen the need for another one the kid would’ve been flabbergasted and not mischievous. He’s even trying to hide the giggles behind his hands and that’s enough to tell Steve he’s on the wrong track.

Multiple times he tries to question Peter what scheme he and his Dad have concocted, but for all the kid’s bubbly outgoing nature he’s inherited from Tony he’s keeping this secret rather well. He apparently tells it to everyone else, though.

Bruce is evading Steve at all costs, although he spends an awful lot of time with Peter, he realizes. Bucky sends him this secret smirk of his that he doesn’t like to see on missions because it means trouble (mostly for him). By the time Clint comes up to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and telling him he’s in for a treat Steve almost breaks. He’s this close to losing it in front of his son.

“I think I haven’t been under such stress since trying to find a suitable daycare center.”

Thankfully Tony’s there to soothe him, pressing close to him on the couch and running his left hand lightly over Steve’s stomach. Peter is on his other side. They both decided to use him as a pillow while watching Rise of the Guardians (which Tony has declared the best Christmas movie since How the Grinch stole Christmas, but Pete’s still too young for that) for the third time this season.

“Then you should thank God your hair doesn’t gray.” Tony smirks at him before he leans in for a kiss, all soft and with feeling. Pete makes a strange noise they both ignore before pulling apart and resuming the cuddling.

“You two make me age with every minute I don’t know about your secret present.”

Pete giggles, snuggling deeper into Steve’s side, immediately sensing the drama in his Papa’s voice. Over the years Steve’s learned how to be overly dramatic for the kid’s entertainment. By now he just can’t help it sometimes. It’s almost second nature to make Peter giggle. At the boy’s laughter Steve buries his nose in his son’s hair, groaning like he’s fatally wounded. It only makes Peter laugh out louder and Steve can’t help but to press his lips to the side of the kid’s head shortly. This kid’s laugh has always managed to make him swoon, but the longer he’s exposed to it the deeper he’s sucked into his small circle of light.

“ _Then_ be glad it’s only a handful more days until Christmas.”

Out of the corner of his eyes Steve glares at Tony, but that only makes him laugh, too. So this is what his life’s come to: his husband is laughing at him, making fun of him, all at his expense, and in front of their son, too, who only nestles closer to him. It’s a small comfort Steve cherishes nevertheless.

“Oh, don’t give me that look.” Tony pinches his sensitive side in a way that makes Steve’s whole body tense up. He’s buried under the two people he cherishes most in life and he’d hate to jostle them around.

“You’re going to love it.” Tony’s fingers dance back from his side to his stomach. Steve feels one of his eyebrows jump up.

“Somehow I’m starting to doubt that.”

He should’ve seen the outcome to that, really, but he’s surprised by Tony’s fingers tightening again.

“Hey, not fair! My son is very talented when it comes to making gifts!”

“Oh, _your_ son?”

“Yes, my immensely talented son Peter. I think you met him the other day. He’s hard to miss, really. Brown hair, hazel eyes, roughly reaches your waist. Extremely bubbly. A very lively kid.”

“Something he’s surely inherited from his father,” Steve quips, but immediately earns payback for saying that.

“Papa, shhh!”

Steve ignores Tony’s near-silent, gleeful snickering while he apologizes to his son who is probably the only one trying to pay attention to the Tooth Fairy swooning over Jack Frost’s shiny teeth.

“Our son,” Tony whispers into Steve’s ear, correcting himself without being prompted. “And you’ll love it. I promise.”

Steve knows he’ll love it. It’s Peter and Tony’s after all.

///

Christmas Eve is almost as hectic as the whole of December, never mind the year since the pandemic started.

After a late breakfast Bruce arrives, arms full of groceries, and bans them from their own kitchen, but Steve can live with that. He’ll get a full three-course-meal out of it after all. Tony makes a little more fuss, even though he hasn’t set a foot in the kitchen since Peter’s grown out of complementary food, but the kid drags him off in the direction of the elevator, probably to make some last touches to the gift they have for Steve. He watches them go with a broad smile.

“You ever realize you’re a really lucky guy, Stevie?” Bucky’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder. Steve’s smile only widens.

“I do, Buck. Still can’t believe it sometimes.”

His smirk meets that of his best friend. Bucky still looks a little ruffled, but ready for some down-time.

“Where’s Nat?” Steve asks. “You didn’t come here together?”

They’d worked a mission up until well in the morning (whatever SHIELD had thought pulling two Avengers off for something they could achieve in two days; though maybe that was exactly why they had done it, making sure that it was over before Christmas).

“Oh, no, we did-“

“And got tested?” Steve interrupts with a beginning frown on his forehead.

“Yes, we did. Both negative. What do you take us for?” Bucky sounds a little hurt at Steve’s words, but one can’t be too careful these days. Besides, regular testing is SHIELD policy. Steve knows that, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“Anyway, Natasha is,” he motions over his shoulder, “pestering Bruce in the kitchen.”

“And hasn’t been thrown out yet?” Steve frowns. That’s… mysterious. When Bruce cooks he usually doesn’t allow people to stand in his way and disturb his Zen. “Huh.”

“Definitely,” Bucky agrees, but his smirk is overly present again, though good-natured.

“Sam?” Steve asks next.

“Promised to be here in time for dinner. He still has _a thing_ at his VA center,” he adds with another smirk at Steve’s raised eyebrow.

“Valerie?” Is she still a thing? Steve has to be honest and say he can’t remember if Sam is still interested in the woman working the front desk.

At that Bucky laughs out loud, full-bodied, a hand over his chest and with his head thrown back. “No! No, he’s taking a couple of vets out for lunch. Do something nice since most of them are pretty shaken up by the events of the year. But I’m sure Valerie’s with them, too.” He winks.

“Valerie is still a thing?” Out of the blue Natasha has appeared by their side, a steaming mug in both her hands. “I thought he’s given up on aiming higher than what’s on his shelf.” She takes a careful sip, though the smirk is clear even around the cup’s rim. They share a laugh until Bucky leans down closer to Natasha’s hands and sniffs.

“Is that spiked? You’re allowing this, Steven?”

Steve most certainly hasn’t. Bucky’s gaze shortly darts between Steve and Nat, but ultimately lands on the woman again.

“Where can I get one of those?”

She leans in conspiratorially, whispering, “Bruce has a pot in the kitchen. But you’ll have to be careful. He’s still in cooking-mode.” Meaning, close to letting the Hulk throw out everyone sneaking into and/or standing around uselessly in his kitchen.

Bucky straitens his back. “I’m a former assassin. I can work this.” He’s off before Steve can complain about the presence of alcohol in his house when they’re expecting kids.

Over the course of the afternoon their whole family arrives at their headquarters in various states of stress and hustle and bustle, but all with smiles on their faces and presents in their arms. Peter’s delighted.

There has been a big discussion about the festivities and how they would take place this year. Covid is spreading, and fast. And just because Steve is a super soldier and can neither contract nor transfer it, he doesn’t want to be responsible for any of his friends, _his family_ , having to endure a possible deadly sickness. But with Peter’s big, sad eyes and Tony’s arguing that they are one big family and have spent enough time over the last months together anyway, he’d caved eventually. He’s adamant on at least keeping their distance, though, which isn’t really a hardship with all the space the common floor offers.

As they all sit together at the table (almost doubled in length this year to make sure everyone’s maintaining their distance), Steve for the first time since Buck’s birthday in March feels normal. Or at least as normal as it’s going to be for a while longer. Tony’s by his side, sliding his hand on Steve’s thigh from time to time to ensure both of them stay grounded. Not like their son. Peter’s practically buzzing, vibrating in front of their family, the decorated tree and all the presents lying under it.

Time flies by lightning-fast. Steve absorbs every moment like a dry sponge, every laugh, every smile, every shared conversation, every almost-touch. Every actual hug he receives from his son. Every kiss he shares with Tony. It’s easy to forget the world’s going down outside the doors.

Once they decide to retreat to the penthouse and bid everyone good-night, Steve overly realizes Peter’s on a precarious edge, hovering either on the keyed-up side or the overfatigued and tired-out one. Sometime during getting into his PJs and going to the bathroom to brush his teeth it’s a weird mix of both. As soon as he’s tucked in under the covers, though, he’s out like a light.

Steve can’t help the huffed out laugh and the fond shake of his head at the boy’s sleeping form.

“Christmas miracle,” Tony says quietly, sliding his hands around Steve’s middle and resting his chin on his shoulder. Steve agrees with an equally quiet hum. Peter will always be their little Christmas miracle. They were able to sign the adoption papers just three days before Christmas, only four months after the boy’s birth. Ever since, this time of the year is doubly special for them.

“Got a surprise for you,” Tony whispers into his ear next, voice hot and promising. Instantly Steve feels a pull in his middle. “Follow me.”

The words are the most serene call if Steve has ever heard one, never mind that Steve would follow his husband to the ends of the Earth, and even beyond. Has already done that, actually, so it’s not a hardship to be led out of their son’s room and, after a short detour to the kitchen where Tony presses a hot cup of punch into his hands, out on the balcony.

Even through Steve’s normally constantly high temperature he feels the cold and is glad for the warmth the cup gives off. It’s below freezing temperature out here. Snow is softly falling around them. For a second Steve wants to mouth off about Tony not wearing a jacket over his sweater, but his husband’s only pulling him close with his free hand, a brilliant smile on his face, and presses a long and languid kiss onto his mouth in a way that steals Steve’s every thought.

“Guess what?” Tony breathes into the small space between them. It still takes Steve a couple of seconds to recover from that kiss and gather his thoughts enough to speak.

“Please just tell me you didn’t buy another island.”

Everything else Steve feels like he can deal with, but not another island. Tony only frowns for a moment before he laughs into the near silence of the evening around them.

“I could have if I’d known you wanted one so badly.”

Steve groans. “No. Absolutely not, you overbearing, spoiled only child.”

“Overbearing, _handsome_ only child, you mean,” Tony teasingly corrects before pressing another kiss to the corner of his husband’s mouth. Steve turns his head a little to capture the lips pressed against him more securely and deepen the kiss. For a little while they simply stand there, on the cold balcony, enjoying each other’s company. Steve feels bereft when Tony does pull back eventually.

“No, really. Guess what.”

His eyes are still glinting dangerously and Steve doesn’t know if he should be suspicious or excited for what’s to come.

“Will you tell me?”

Tony chuckles. “It’s Christmas.” He leans in for another kiss and only shortly pulls back to whisper, “And I love you” against Steve’s lips.

Now it’s Steve who pulls him closer, wrapping his body as best around his husband as he can with a steaming hot cup in his one and Tony’s pretty face in his other hand.

“And I love you, Tony Stark.”

Tony shivers and tries to bury himself deeper in Steve’s arms, but he doesn’t allow that. He only cups Tony’s cheek again, drawing his face up so he can look him in the eyes. There are snowflakes glistening in Tony’s hair, on his eyelashes even, running a race with the glow in his eyes, and for a second Steve can’t breathe until Tony gives him back the air he’s stolen in form of another kiss.

“Merry Christmas.”

///

The scream that wakes Steve in the morning is ear-shattering. For a moment he thinks something’s happened, that Pete is actually in danger because of - whatever, but the scream is immediately followed by an obvious squeal of joy and that makes Steve relax back into the sheets. Tony next to him only groans once before flopping down face first onto Steve’s chest.

“Daddy! Papa!” Peter barges into their bedroom, slamming the door against the wardrobe. “It’s Christmas!” And storms out of the room again just as quickly, clearly making his way into the living room.

Tony groans again. “Is it bad to think five-year-olds are tiring?”

They can hear Pete call out, “Presents!” somewhere down the hallway.

“And I thought he was exhausting when he was barely two.” The way Tony’s lips move over the bare skin of his chest makes ripples run down Steve’s spine. He almost can’t hear his husband’s muffled words, so distracted is he.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to coax an answer out of his mind because his son dashes into the room again, this time jumping on the bed and dragging at both Tony and Steve.

“Come oooon!”

The kid doesn’t wait long for their reaction, though, and instead scrambles right back off the bed and out the door, probably hoping his dads will follow him. It takes them another minute to move. Steve pulls himself up first, much to Tony’s displeasure.

“How has Clint lived through this three times?”

Now at that Steve has to laugh. Gently he pets his husband’s leg, trying to convince him to indulge their son.

“I bet he’s dying to open his presents.”

His hand travels up higher on Tony’s thigh. Tony turns a little, opens his legs a little wider to give Steve some room for activities they have neither the time nor the privacy for, but that feel nice nevertheless. They’ve taken too long already which only becomes more obvious when Peter calls over, “Dad! Papa’s present! Come on!”

When he comes into their bedroom this time he jumps right into Tony’s lap, pushing Steve almost bodily out of the way. It only makes Steve chuckle lightly as his husband maneuvers their son out of the way enough so that he can sit up.

“Alright, alright. I’m right behind you.” He drags a hand over the kid’s hair. “I’ll convince Papa to make us breakfast while you go brush your teeth.” Gently, he pushes him off him and goes untangling himself from the covers. Steve thinks his heart bursts with love for his two men. Infatuated as he is, Steve pulls his husband close before Tony can make his way out of the bed, pressing another kiss to his lips that ends in smiles on both their lips.

“Can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with,” he whispers against Tony’s morning stubble.

“You will.” Tony kisses him again. “My son is very talented.”

At which Steve simply shoves him towards the edge of the bed. “Out. Get out of my bed.” Thankfully Tony’s awake enough by now that he doesn’t fall, but simply laughs while scrambling off. Steve shakes his head, but soon joins in his jovial mood. It’s Christmas after all and he’s actually dying to find out what they’ve come up with.

When he comes out of the bathroom he hears them whispering animatedly in the living room. Probably some last, finishing touches. Steve halts near the doorway.

“Is it allowed to come in yet?”

Instead of giving an answer Pete throws himself at him, encircling his legs.

“Merry Christmas, Papa,” the kid murmurs against his stomach. Steve feels his throat choke up with the fondness and warmth suddenly flushing his body, a feeling that’s not new to him, has followed him around for five years now whenever their son drops such a bomb on him.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, buddy.”

He frees himself from Peter’s embrace only to crouch down and return the gesture, hugging his little frame close to his chest.

“Do you want to open your present?” Peter whispers against his cheek after a while, clearly getting restless again, vibrating with the need to give him his present.

“Of course I do.”

He hasn’t even really finished the sentence before the kid disentangles himself from Steve’s arms and dashes into the living room. With a fond chuckle Steve gets back up and follows Peter. On his way towards the decorated tree he passes by his husband, takes his hand and squeezes tightly, dragging Tony with him where Peter already stands, almost at parade rest, holding out a present wrapped in red and blue paper with a white ribbon around it. That is clearly Tony’s touch. Probably payback for something only Tony Stark can get annoyed over.

“This is for you. From me _and_ Daddy.” He stresses the _and_ rather pointedly, along with throwing his Dad an equally pointed look.

Steve follows the glance only to find Tony placing a finger over his mouth as if he wants to shush their son, but actually says, “He wouldn’t allow me to give you anything else. So you have our ball of sunshine here to thank that you won’t get a private island this year.”

Steve actually groans. Much to his surprise, it’s ultimately Pete who saves him from more silly jokes.

“Papa doesn’t want an island, Dad.”

Oh, things have to be serious if the kid brings out ‘Dad’.

“Right you are, Pete, I don’t.” He throws his husband a dirty glare for bringing the island-issue up again, but thinks it falls a little flat, if he has to judge by the mischievous, loving glint in Tony’s eyes. “I’d rather like to see what’s in here.” He tilts the present in his hands from one side to the other carefully, afraid to shake it too hard in case it might be fragile. Who knows what his two boys have come up with? Steve certainly doesn’t.

Peter is way more excited for his Papa to open his present than he is about opening his own and that should’ve made Steve at least a little suspicious. But as it’s Christmas morning he doesn’t think too much of it. Instead he pulls Peter over to the couch so that he can see Steve opening the present. Tony joins them, sits down on Pete’s other side and watches with a big smile over the kid’s head as his husband carefully pulls at the ribbon.

Once he’s through the paper a small cardboard box appears, two big handprints with two smaller ones right on top of the big ones. Immediately Steve’s in love, all over again, with both his husband and their son. It only gets better after that.

The rest of the box is covered in Peter’s handprints in various colors. At closer inspection Steve sees that small screws keep the lid firmly in place. Totally unnecessary, but nevertheless sweet. Steve suspects Peter has asked his Dad to add a touch of his own with that since the handprints are mostly his.

“They’re not… you can just pull the lid off,” Tony explains, already halfway bent over to do it himself, but Peter thoroughly slaps his hands away.

“No! Papa has to do it!”

Hands raised in defense, Tony leans back again. Steve can see in the crinkles around his eyes that he’s stifling the smile. A little smile on his own lips, he concentrates on lifting the lid to finally see the contents of the box.

Steve’s stunned silent as soon as he lays eyes on his present, even before he’s put a single finger on it. For a second he doesn’t dare to do so in fear of breaking it. But then his son asks him to get it out, Papa, and who is Steve to deny the kid?

Carefully he pulls the construction that comes into view out of the box. The second his mind takes it all in Steve is close to tears.

It’s a mechanical version of one of his most favorite scenes: Peter, Tony and him, standing around a decorated Christmas tree in between a mountain of presents. It’s… animated, for the lack of a better description. The tree’s lights are blinking in different colors. Steve’s wearing a Christmas hat whose bobble changes lights from red to blue to white. Tony’s waving his hand at him, a bright smile on his face. The small figure that is clearly Peter has a smile that’s the biggest feature on his face, showing how happy he is being pulled up by his dads’ strong arms from time to time. Sometimes even one of the presents under the tree lights up.

The more details he takes in the closer are his tears to spilling.

At closer inspection of the box Steve finds the original drawing is included, too, all messy brush strokes he’s been used to for years now, has seen them what feels like forever next to his own paintings in his studio.

“Do you…” Pete’s voice is too small for having achieved such an incredible feat. “Papa, do you like it?”

“I love it.” His own voice is breathy, way too airy.

Tony notices like he notices everything. “Hey.” His hand lands on his shoulder in comfort. But all that achieves is giving Steve the last push.

Peter’s a little alarmed when his Papa embraces him with tears running down his cheeks. For a moment Steve gets lost in the way Peter’s heart beats against his chest and subsequently against Steve’s cheek right now. How warm and soft his skin is under the PJs he’s still wearing. How much he loves their talented, beautiful son and his equally talented and beautiful husband.

“Guess we broke Papa, big guy,” he hears Tony murmur somewhere next to them. It’s enough to prompt Steve to swallow down the lump in his throat and wipe away his tears after he’s pulled back.

“Uh, sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed. This is…” He clears his throat, taking in the mechanical picture yet again. He’s almost as moved as the first time he’s lain eyes on it. “This is so… awesome, I can’t believe you two really made this for me.”

“So you like it?”

Steve laughs, even though it’s a little winded still. “I do, baby, I do. Thank you so much.” He leans down to kiss the top of his son’s head before leaning over to do the same to Tony’s mouth. “Thank you,” he whispers against his husband’s lips.

“Anytime, darling. You know I love reducing you to mush.”

They share a bout of laughter, absorbed in each other, until Peter nudges his way back into their circle of warmth.

“Papa?” he lowly asks. “Are you done moping now?” He looks at him expectantly. Steve fondly smiles at his kid, dragging a hand over his head.

“I am, buddy. Thank you for making this Christmas so special.”

Pete throws himself into his lap, tightens his arms around Steve’s neck in a tight hug that his Papa can only wholeheartedly return. Until the allure of the blinking tree and more importantly, the presents under it, becomes too much and Peter’s off to tear through them, drawing soft smiles from both his dads. He’s sitting in front of the first one, the one Sam’s brought over, Steve thinks, when he hesitates. Without saying a word he gets up again, takes Steve’s hand and drags him over to the dining table and accusingly points at it.

“It has to stand here,” he pats his hand right where he wants his present to be displayed and Steve immediately complies, “and the drawing on the-“

“And the drawing on the fridge, I know. _Of course_ it’s going up on the fridge,” Steve finishes, dragging his hand over Peter’s head again before he gently pushes him back towards the tree to open his presents. This time the kid goes way more willingly. Moments later he’s all absorbed with unwrapping. Steve’s glance finds Tony’s across the room and mouths, “Love you”, earning himself a smirk and a finger beckoning him closer again. As always he doesn’t hesitate a second.

This Christmas is different. Everybody knows that. But like every Christmas before, Steve thinks, it’s special. Because it’s theirs.


End file.
